Silent Angel
by Minao Tskino
Summary: Avril can sing; beautifuly, angelicaly. But she doesn't want to. She doesn't want to speak either. So, they call her a mute. But, what if the Phantom can inspire her to sing again? Would she still be as great as she once was? And who will he choose? Christine or Avril? OC! R and R for more chapters Minao Tskino
1. Chapter 1

_Silent Angel or Learn To Be Lonely_

* * *

I wasn't always silent. There was a time when I was loud, and to the brim with happiness and warmth. A time when songs coursed through my mouth, and echoed around the room. A time when my mother was alive.

I never met my father, nor did I think much about him. To me, he wasn't real. And he didn't matter either. So, for now, let's put him aside.

I didn't have any sisters or brothers. My mother raised me on her own, with her job as a baker paying for our meals. She was a shy woman, talking only when she needed to. However, at home, she was kind to me. She would tuck me in every night, singing sweat lullabies that seemed to be made by angels.

Her voice...I can't go into exact detail on how beautiful, soothing, and perfect it was. Still, to this day, I can hear it melting my heart, and healing my soul. Every majestic note, every meaningful word. How I wished I could sing like that.

So, I practiced. I tried to mimic her, and the way she sounded. I didn't get close. My young voice couldn't hit the lower or higher notes, but I strained for them. I kept going and going, reaching and reaching. Finnaly I'd hit one, and joy surged through me. Then, I would miss it, and sadness would fill me. This was my daily life, in my second floor bedroom, singing away the hours.

One day, I got up the urge to show my mother my voice.

"You want to sing to me?" She asked. I blushed, embarrassment rising to my face. What had I been thinking?!

"Y-Yes." I stammered.

She smiled, encouragingly, "I'd love to hear." She stared at me, waiting patiently for me to start.

"Could you close your eyes, Mama?" I asked.

"Of course, darling." I sighed, nervously, then took in a deep breath.

_"Child of the wilderness,_

_Born into emptiness,_

_Learn to be lonely,_

_Learn to find your way in darkness._

_Who will be there for you;_

_Comfort and care for you?_

_Learn to be lonely._

_Learn to be your one companion._

_Never dreamed out in the world _

_There are arms to hold you _

_You've always known your heart was on its own_

_So laugh in your loneliness _

_Child of the wilderness _

_Learn to be lonely _

_Learn how to love life that is lived alone_

_Learn to be lonely _

_Life can be lived, life can be loved alone.." _I finished. By the middle, she had opened her eyes, staring in shock.

"Such a beautiful voice..." She muttered. I blinked at her, and she stared at me.

"Really?" I breathed. She nodded.

"Darling," She took my hands in hers, "I think you were born to be an opera singer." She smiled at me, and my eyes lit up with happiness.

"You think?!"

"I do! And now, I must find you lessons."

"Lessons?" I asked.

"To perfect your voice. In a while, you'll be an amazing singer!" She exclaimed. I hugged her in delight.

"However, right now, my sweet, I must prepare dinner." I let go of her, and watched at she started cutting vegetables. She was always so knowledgable, and graceful. She seemed like a queen or a goddess. She looked so beautiful, with her big blue eyes, and her long black hair. I had inherited her eyes and hair, and her voice, but I wanted to be even more like her. And, while watching her take some bread out of a cupboard, I got an idea. Perhaps if she had made a different meal that night, one without bread, I wouldn't have become a mute. But, I'll never know.

The next day, when she went off to work early in the morning, I followed silently behind her, so she wouldn't know. I wasn't supposed to come with her, but I wanted to watch her bake the bread at the bakery. I wanted to see her even more. I was only eight, and not the smartest girl in the world. What would any other person have done?

"Marie! Get the rolls in the oven!" A baker yelled to her. She nodded, and quickly put on her apron. I watched through the window, careful not to be seen.

I watched all day, stopping once to run back home and eat something at my normal lunch time. But, I hurried back, and watched her. She was even perfect covered in flour and sweat.

Later in the evening, she received her pay, and started to walk home. It was November, and it was already dark a few minutes after she left. She turned a corner, and from my spot many feet back, I watch a man in a coat start to follow her.

He seemed strange. He followed, getting closer and closer. Then, he disappeared completely. My mother turned a corner, and I was right behind when I heard the muffled yell.

" 'here are _you_ goin'?!" The man asked, pressing her to a wall. She tried to yell, but a knife was pressed to her throat, and he was terrifying her.

"Mother!" I murmured, watching from the dark. "Somebody!" I yelled.

"You little bitch!" He started to come towards me, ignoring my mother.

"Somebody help!" I screamed. A light came on in a nearby house. He ran for me with the knife, and I let out a high pitch screech. He stopped momentarily, as my mother punched him in he back of his head.

Being a shy woman, she couldn't hurt somebody if she wanted to, and that full hearted try was still weak. He turned around, and in anger, held the knife to her again.

"DON'T!" I screamed. He turned and smirked at me, a smirk I would never forget. Then, he slit her throat.

By this time, people had come out, and so he took her money, and ran away. She was dyeing, and in a few moments, she was cold and gone. I sat there, on the freezing ground, rocking myself back and forth.

"Somebody...Somebody help...Somebody..Some..body-y..." I whispered, as a man came and picked me up, in a blanket, and carried me inside a nearby house.

Tears slid silently down my face, as I whispered softer and softer, stopping altogether. I was put inside a guest room of sorts, and a little boy and his mother looked at me. The man closed the door, and I stared at the dark ceiling.

"Darling, was that woman your mother?" The mother asked me. I looked at her, and softly nodded. It was morning, and everyone thought I was still in shock, so I wasn't speaking. However, I didn't talk for days, then weeks, then months, and then I started pretending I was a mute.

Whenever I'd meet a new person, I tapped my throat twice, and gave a sad smile. They understood at once.

I started to notice how people were. Their personalities, and their flaws, all became clearer to me. Some people thought I was creepy, because I never talked, and would appear seemingly out of thin air.

The woman and the man were married, and their son was younger than me, by about three years. I remember him once asking me why I was so quiet. His mother scolded him, and made him apologize.

I lived with them; they had plenty enough room. I never got very close to them. They were earth-bound people, and I was always off in my mind, imagining I had my mother's voice, and singing an opera.


	2. Chapter 2

_Silent Angel or Learn To Be Lonely_

* * *

November came and passed, taking with it, the autumn weather. A thick layer of snow-covered the rooftops and roads of Paris. A fire was lit in the fireplace. More blankets were added to the beds, and I received a warm, dark cape.

Christmas came and went, bringing on another round of grieving for my mother. And then the New Year, with its celebration and joy.

January came, along with my birthday. The fifteenth to be precise. They never asked when my birthday was, and so it came and passed without any celebration.

I was nine. And, I spent most of my time by the warm fire, reading or drawing or daydreaming.

The little boy's name was Oliver. He was only five years old, and ran around the house playing and shouting. He loved to get outside, and would sometimes bring me back a souvenir. It might be a giant leaf, or a caterpillar. His mother when then scold him for bringing it into the house, and tell him to dispose of it immediately.

His mother scolded him often, and when he was out of the room, she would always exclaim, "Oh! It's for his own good. I vowed I would raise him right!" She was a modest, hot-headed woman, and had somehow acclaimed the head of the family.

The father spent his time at market, buying and selling things. He would sometimes return with a trinket for his wife, a new book for me, or a small toy for Oliver. He was quiet, but knowledgable. He did what his wife told him to, and calmed her down when she got angry.

They were kind, happy people to live with, and if I wasn't still grieving, I might have enjoyed the white winter days with them in front of the fire, doing unproductive things to pass the time. But, I didn't. I wanted to leave, and go somewhere all alone; disappear into the white snow and never return. I was only nine; where could I go? What could I do?

And so, I sat in that warm room, and tried to zone out their laughter and music with words and chapters.

A year passed, and slowly I became happier. However, I stayed silent. My tenth birthday was celebrated, as they got the information out of me during the previous year. My new mother invited her friend and her daughter to come, as they lived nearby.

"Antoinette! My dear friend!" She hugged a woman all dressed in black, a tired smile plastered on her face, and a small hand in hers.

"It's great to see you, Marie." The woman hugged her back, letting go of the child's hand.

"And it good to see you, Meg! You've grown so much!" She picked up the small child, and twirled her around. The girl giggled, cheerily.

"Mind your manners, dear." Antoinette said lightly to Meg. Meg nodded, and curtsied.

"It's a pleasure to see you again." She said, trying to be formal. The little girl was blond, and her hair was in a tight bun, as her mother's.

"So grown up!" Marie smiled, and welcomed them in. "Oliver! Come say hello!" Oliver ran in, and hugged Meg tightly. I stayed hidden, in the doorway.

"Avril! You too! I know you're watching!" I sighed, and shyly walked in.

"Who's this?" Meg asked. I smiled.

"My adopted daughter, Avril." Meg smiled, and held out her hand.

"Nice to meet you! My name's Meg!" I smiled back, and shook her outstretched hand. When I didn't answer, Meg raised a brow.

"Avril is...silent." Marie said, gravely. Meg's eyes went wide, making me feel embarrassed. I bit my lip, and looked at the ground.

"I'm sorry, dear." Antoinette said to me.

"It doesn't matter!" Meg said, smiling, "We can still dance together!" She took my hand, and pulled me into the nursery.

"Do you dance?" She asked. I shook my head. She frowned.

"Well, I'll teach you!" She then showed me how to do basic ballet moves, and twirls. I went through each effortlessly, and she followed. It was joyous, this expression of emotion. I loved every moment.

"You know what?" She asked me, "No, actually don't answer that! But...I think you should learn ballet with me!" She did a twirl, and I smiled.

'That would be amazing.' I thought. I nodded, vigorously. She took my hand, and sped down the stairs with me flying behind.

After much agreeing and disagreeing, I was allowed to study ballet with Meg at the Paris Dance Institute. However, I'd have to leave home to stay there.

So, with tears of thanks, and tears of goodbye, I left.

"Pirouette! Grand-Plié! Keep going! And point! Hold! Hold!" The instructor barked. I held my point tirelessly, until she motioned for us to stop. "Good enough for today! Class Dissmissed!" Meg ran over to me.

"You did wonderful today!" I nodded, and motioned to herself, "Aww! Thank you! Now, we should get something to eat. I'm starving!"

Meg Giry was a very spontaneous, dramatic, kind person. We quickly became best friends. I fell in love with dancing, and she pressed on to become the best in the class. I admired her gracefulness, and how she stood up for me when the other girls made fun of my quietness. She was a year older than me, and when I turned fifteen, she told me she was going to be in the Opera Ballet.

I remember my eyes going wide with shock.

"I know! Isn't it exciting?!" I look away, nodding. "But, I'll be leaving..." She sighed. "Maybe you could try out too! And then we could dance together on stage and- and! It'd be amazing!"

The Opera Populaire. It was a dream to dance there. What if I was noticed on stage by a handsome young man, and got swept off my feet?! That'd be amazing!

And so, for the rest of that day, I thought of the Opera...And I'm embarrassed to say...A handsome young man...


	3. Chapter 3

_Silent Angel or Learn To Be Lonely_

* * *

After a very anxious carriage ride to the Opera Populaire, Meg and I stepped through the front door. I was instantly taken aback by the size and grandeur of the building, and as Meg rushed ahead to join the rest of the auditioners, I slowed down, admiring the room.

There was so much detail; such glorious splendour. The marble staircase was perfectly cleaned, and it shone brightly because of the reflection of the lights hanging above. My head tilted upwards, taking in the carved ceiling. Golden Angels, and flowers, and forests, and animals, and humans in their glory and shame danced around the golden canvas. If I could speak, I would've been speechless.

"Avril!" Meg ran down the stairs to get me, "Don't dawdle! The auditions are starting!" I followed her quickly up the magnificent staircase and into the theatre room.

"Welcome everyone!" The manager stood on the stage, and a pianist was looking over the piece. "I hope you will all do your best for the available spots." Meg gripped my arm tightly, from our red velvet seats.

They called us by our last names, working their way down the alphabet. When they finally called Meg, I gave her hand a gentle squeeze, as she was the nervous type. She took a deep breath as she went up to the stage.

"Un. Deux. Trois!." The conductor started off the pianist.

It was a very graceful song, and she danced with caution and elegance. The turns were perfect, the jumps straight and professional. I could see how the extra year of ballet had let her perfect every move, and I would've been surprised if she hadn't made it.

She ended with a spin and a bow forward.

"Very nicely done, Mademoiselle Giry." The manager smiled.

Meg quickly smiled back, said, "Thank you Monsieur!", and walked off stage. She returned to her seat next to me.

I griped her hand, and she looked over at me. I gave it a squeeze, and smiled.

"Thanks," She whispered, "Are you nervous?" I shook my head, even though my stomach was doing flips. "That's good." She turned her head back to the stage, and I did too, trying to focus on the next dancer.

...

"Mademoiselle Avril Rousseau." I stood, and rushed up to the stage.

"Un. Deux. Trois!" And the music began.

Meg and I, even being a year apart, were a lot alike dancing. We could do exactly what the other could, though at the time, I always thought she was better. However, there was a clear difference to anyone watching.

Meg, being the happy, perfectly raised, peppy ballerina, only had her joy to show in her dancing. And I, being the lonely, unfortunate girl, teased with small fragments of love and happiness throughout her life, had despair and anger and a bit of happiness in mine.

After I had moved into the Paris ballet academy, I found what I couldn't say with my mouth, could be expressed through dancing. Every dip, every turn, every leap; they all were sensual, and emotional. Wither it be the peak of happiness, or the depths of despair, when I danced, I could speak. Not literally, but it was close.

Perhaps, I was fooling myself. Nothing could be the same as singing. _Then why won't I sing? _

The answer: I was scared. Terrified, that if I open my mouth, and tried my vocal chords, I would find they didn't work. Better to pretend it was just too much work to bother, than to try, and find out I couldn't.

_Right?_

The piece ended, and I spun, and bowed.

"Excellently done, Mademoiselle Rousseau!" I nodded, trying not to look vain because I didn't answer, and rushed off stage. I took my seat next to Meg, and watched the other dancers. I noticed a few great dancers, and some very poor ones. One of them tripped over her other foot, and fell on her face. Meg suppressed a giggle, and some other girls a few seats back laughed loudly.

There were a couple more, and then the manager and the conductor talked to each other about the decision. Meg tightly gripped the armrests until her knuckles turned white. I touched her shoulder, and she looked over.

I nodded, and smiled, trying to calm her down. She smiled back, and we waited in silence.

The manager and the conductor came back, holding a list.

The manager stood on the stage, and announced name after name,

"Mademoiselles Stephanie Ambler, Josette Bucher, Paulette D'Aubigne, Meg Giry, Charlotte Merle, Avril Rousseau, Arianne Roux, and Odette Worth." Meg, and the other dancers immediately jumped to their feet and squealed in joy; except for me, who didn't do much squealing. However, I _was_ dragged to my feet by Meg, and then pulled into a tight hug.

"Oh My Gosh! Oh My Gosh!" She laughed, like she was worried she wouldn't get in, despite her mother being the choreographer of the corps de ballet.

The manager apologized to the ones who weren't picked, and then Madame Giry escorted us to our rooms.

"You will each 'ave your own rooms. Inside by eight." She paused, and the group stopped behind her, "I don't know where you are all coming from, but here, we do not tolerate 'reaking the rules."

"Raking?" A snicker came from the back of the group, and the group laughed.

"Or disrespect." Madame Giry snapped. The laughs were choked back. We continued walking down the hall, Meg to my right, listening intently to her mother. I went into a daze, looking around, and taking in the cramped hallways' contrast to the elegance of the marble staircase and the stage. Which was very great. She stopped at the end of the hallway, and I quickly regained my composure.

"Please refrain from looking 'round the Opera house, and do not venture 'ownstairs. That t'is all." She walked away, and they started scurrying to their rooms. I walked to mine, right at the end of the hallway.

Opening the door, I set my suitcase inside. I inspected the cozy room, noting the bed and the dresser, as well as the full length mirror. I closed the door behind me, and started putting my clothes in the dresser and the closet. I took my time, making sure everything was where I wanted it to be.

I pulled out a small portrait of my mother. Putting it on the nightstand, I admired her once again. Her eyes reminded me of stars shining on the ocean, and her hair like a raven's wing. I still remembered her as being a kind, composed woman, without fault, who kept to herself and hardly trusted or opened up to anyone. Even her only daughter.

And somehow, I thought it was because she was protecting me. So, I was content with that.


End file.
